A Neighbor Unto Demons
by LadyWallace
Summary: Aziraphale sometimes wondered about that demon he had met on the Eastern Gate, and whether he should have stopped him or not, but when he finds Crowley in an unfortunate predicament, he can't help but feeling compassion instead. Pre-friendship (Gen)


**A commission fic for 3skydream3 by Cafelatte100- Hope you both enjoy!**

**I didn't intend originally for this to end up as sort of a twist on the Good Samaritan story but Cafelatte mentioned it during out discussion about the fic and it was one of those things that worked out rather nice on accident :)**

A Neighbor Unto Demons

A Good Omens Fanfic

"_But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him._

_Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves?"_

_Luke 10: 33,36_

Crowley decided that he didn't like the rain.

It hadn't rained until he'd told Eve to eat the fruit—he began to wonder if that was all part of the whole Curse thing. If it was, he kind of wanted to take it back.

Rain was wet and cold—two things Crowley was realizing he hated more and more. Hell, thankfully, happened to be neither of those. Not that he really had fond feelings for Hell, but it was home, so he was at least used to it.

Now though, the Powers that Be had him and some other demons topside, looking for trouble to make, causing wild wiles to appear. Tempting the humans who roamed the land.

There still weren't that many of those, but as Crowley had found out early on, even one or two humans were enough to cause trouble.

Crowley had been on top of Hell's employee of the month list after the incident in the Garden—lots of commendations for that. The _first_ tempting. He had to give himself a pat on the back for that one. But Hastur was currently Hell's golden boy, or at least the infernal version of it, now since he'd tempted Cain to murder his brother. Crowley wasn't entirely impressed, in fact, he had decided that he wasn't really into the whole killing thing. Not like that anyway. He didn't really see why Cain had had to do that just because Abel had been smart enough to grow animals instead of vegetables and thus jealousy was born. But Hell had, of course, loved it. The more blood and death as a result of a temping the better. Crowley thought Hastur had just caused more trouble than it was all worth.

But because of that, Crowley was now out here trying to find some new wile to create. Something that could get him back on top. It was hard to be anything but on top when it came to Hell. Everyone else was derided, and spit upon—sometimes literally—and, well, when you put it that way, Crowley might admit that he was glad to be out here instead of down there, but it was only a small margin. Needless to say, there were now monthly quotas, and if you didn't meet them…well…down to the Pit you went and Crowley shuddered to think of all the things that would happen to him there.

Yet, it seemed finding anyone to tempt was proving itself more difficult than anticipated. Crowley had been wandering around for the better part of a day and hadn't seen anyone or anything. Especially in this rain. He was just cold and wet and miserable. Of course, it was understandable; why would anyone else with an ounce of sense be out here?

He sighed, and trudged on his way toward a rocky outcropping. He thought perhaps there was a village on the other side, and there were rocks that were big enough that he might be able to hide underneath of them until the rain stopped, which is exactly what he planned to do.

However, what he didn't plan for was the excessive amount of mud.

Mud was another nasty byproduct of rain and thus Crowley hated that too. He slogged on his way, the sandals on his feet coming right off after only a few steps and when he bent to retrieve them, he sank up to the edges of his robes, which got so covered in the mud, they weighed him down remarkably. Crowley hissed in annoyance as he finally got himself unstuck, and retrieved his sandals, which he held in one hand while he high-stepped out of the mud.

He got to firmer ground and, with a resigned sigh, looked up toward a nice rocky spot that looked like a place one thin demon could hide under. He'd try his snake form, but that was even more uncomfortable in the cold rain, and it looked like there was enough room for his human form. The only problem was that between him and it was a lot more mud.

He decided to just fly then. It would be quicker and easier in the long run. The only reason he hadn't wanted to do that before was because the only thing he hated more than wet hair and clothes were wet feathers. But he didn't think he would have to have his wings out long enough for them to get waterlogged. Still, they were no duck's wings.

But the beckon of shelter outweighed any cares he had, and he materialized his wings, arching his back in discomfort as rain pelted them, and spread them, preparing for a leap and a mighty flap to get himself off the ground.

He landed in the desired spot when he noticed that there was an even _better_ spot only a little further up with more room and less mud. He smiled and raised his wings to take a couple flaps over there.

The ground disappeared under him.

He didn't really know what had happened. It was like one minute he was standing on solid ground, ready to fly, and the next he was dropping down the mountain, tumbling and rolling, mud coating his clothes and wings and everything, as rocks beat his body mercilessly on the way down.

Crowley couldn't remember the last part, must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew was he was opening his eyes and there was just pain radiating from his entire body.

And he couldn't move.

Most of his body was encased in mud. There was one hand still free and he reached for a more solid rock, trying to grab it, but the act only seemed to cause him to sink deeper into the flaming mud!

Crowley flapped his wings, hoping they might be able to lift him out of here, but pain tore through him and he cried out, whipping his head around to see his right wing trapped beneath a large rock. He tried to wrench it free, but the pain was excruciating and he was forced to stop.

"Bless it," Crowley hissed. "_Bless it!"_

He was in a very bad way and it looked like he wasn't getting out of it by himself.

Perhaps if he was lucky one of his fellow demons would be along shortly. Considering the amount of them out on the job, he was pretty confident that was bound to happen before too long. And yes, it would be embarrassing, but he wouldn't really care as long as he got out of there.

He just hoped it wouldn't be too long.

* * *

_Aziraphale adjusted his wings_ above his head to shield himself from the rain and sighed.

No one had actually told him in so many words that he had been demoted after what had happened in the Garden, but it was heavily implied when Gabriel had told him about his new orders. And really, how could he expect anything different? He'd let that demon slip by him to do something…well, Aziraphale was still rather unsure if it was something terrible or not. It was always rather hard to tell when it came to God's Plan. All he knew was that it was ineffable, and that was good enough for him.

And he supposed that since the humans were no longer living in the Garden it _was_ rather pointless to have any angels guarding it, let alone the one who had done, overall, a rather poor job of it.

So instead, now he was set to roam the earth, guiding the humans when they needed it, and thwarting evil when it came. And there was an influx of demons roaming around. Aziraphale had gotten a note about it from head office. That he was to be on the lookout for the wily fiends and to use force if he found any of them.

Aziraphale sort of hoped he wouldn't. After all, he didn't have his sword anymore. Be rather silly going up against a demon without a sword.

He continued on his patrol, miracling away the mud from his white robe for about the tenth time that day—he'd probably get a stern note about that from Michael or Gabriel too, saying it was a frivolous waste of miracle, but he didn't really care at the moment. He looked around to see if any of the fiends were even out in this weather. He highly suspected not.

And then, he saw something up ahead almost buried beneath rocks and mud that was struggling to get out. A large black-feathered wing flapped up briefly before collapsing back into the mud. It was either a giant bird or…

"Oh my," Aziraphale gasped as he got closer and was able to better see what he was looking at.

Black wings, sodden and covered in mud, a white hand, desperately clawing at the rocky ground, and bright flame-red hair that was scraggly and plastered to the pale face and shoulders. Yellow snake's eyes stared up at Aziraphale, fear and challenge both emanating from them.

"Why…you're the demon from the Garden!" Aziraphale said, slightly indignant. After all, this fiend was the reason he had lost his job—he was pretty sure anyway.

"Angel," the demon hissed, flicking a forked tongue out of his mouth and brandishing fangs.

"Are you quite all right? You look rather stuck," Aziraphale said, not really knowing what else to say.

The demon blinked, looking slightly surprised before he narrowed his eyes. "None of your business, white-wings! You can just prance on by, thank you very much!"

Aziraphale frowned, instead taking a step closer. "Are you sure? You look like you could use some help?"

The demon hissed angrily at him. "Help from an angel? I'd rather discorporate."

"It would really be no problem if I were to pull you out…oh, oh my, your wing is pinned too! Are you sure you can manage on your own?"

He'd just realized that the demon's right wing was pinned under a large rock, and the thought made Aziraphale wince, his own feathers bristling in sympathy.

The demon snarled again. "Get out of here, angel! There's more of my kind around and they'll get me out of here. Don't want to be seen getting rescued by some cloud-hopper! You should leave if you know what's good for you!"

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a disapproving line. "Really, I know you're a demon, but are you so proud that you wouldn't accept my help when you truly need it?"

"Need it?" the demon scoffed. "How do you know I didn't just do this to set a trap for the next stupid angel who came along?"

Aziraphale took a small step back, wondering if that was indeed the case. The demon looked pitiful enough, but that might be the whole point of the ruse. Still…

He took a step forward again and reached out. "Come now, don't be so stubborn. I'll get you out of here."

The demon snarled and hissed, half transforming into a snake and causing Aziraphale to take a step back, snagging his hand away, slightly ashamed of himself for being so startled.

The demon chuckled. "That's right. Smart move. Look, I'll let you go since you didn't call me out in the Garden. I owe you one—just this once. But this is the only time. Not get out of here before my buddies show up, yeah?"

Aziraphale didn't feel very good about leaving even a demon in this state, but…well, if he did have friends coming, then hopefully they would help him if it turned out the demon was lying about setting a trap after all. And if he was telling the truth about the trap, then it would look quite silly for Aziraphale to be captured by demons after trying to help one out of the mud. Especially since he had been sent to take care of any he saw. He'd probably be demoted back to the file rooms in Heaven if that were to happen.

He drew himself up with a huff. "Fine, but don't blame me if I walk away and you have no one to help you!"

"Fine! I won't!" the demon called after him as Aziraphale strode away in a huff.

But he couldn't help but feel a little bad about what he had done.

* * *

_Crowley watched the angel_ walk away with just a little bit of regret. He probably _should_ have accepted the halo's offer for help, and yet…well, the thought of even a rumor getting around Hell that he had been rescued from a stupid accident by an angel would end Crowley's career forever. He'd never be taken seriously again, and probably thrown into the pit and tortured just on principle.

And Hastur and Ligur were close by. He was supposed to meet them to make a report later, which was why he had been trying to find someone to tempt. Hopefully they would come by at some point in the near future.

In the meantime, Crowley tried his best not to sink further into the mud, simply slumping against the one rock he had gotten hold of to keep him above the sludge. His wing was aching more and more by the minute, and he was so wet and cold, he finally used his other wing as a shade because it was already beyond wet and caked with mud. Unfortunately, it did little more than drip on him. Crowley's hair clung to his face and neck in dark red strings, making him even more uncomfortable.

He had hoped he would be able to shift into his snake form to escape, but unfortunately, with his wing caught as it was, it looked like he wasn't going to be able to make a full transformation, which only made everything worse.

"Well, would you look at that."

Crowley raised his wing from over his face, and nearly sighed in relief as he spotted Hastur and Ligur making their way across the wet ground toward him.

"Hey, guys," Crowley called to them, waving his free hand weakly. "Got myself into a little spot of bother. Would you mind horribly helping me out?"

Hastur and Ligur only looked at each other before they broke into wheezing chuckles that caused Crowley to bristle. He tried not to show it, simply rolling his eyes and twisting his hand in a circular motion, waiting for them to get it out.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Hilarious, right? Now get me out of here!"

"What's the matter?" Ligur asked with a nasty grin. "The snake can't slither his way out of that?"

"What a shame," Hastur joined in, his leer even nastier than Ligur's, which was a feat in itself.

Crowley tried not to let his desperation show on his face. "Come on, my wing's caught. Just at least move the rock a little. I suppose even you two lardheads could manage that."

Hastur and Ligur glanced at each other and Crowley didn't really like their look very much.

"Well, that wouldn't be too much work, I suppose," Ligur said.

"No, we could manage that," Hastur agreed and they strode over to Crowley's trapped figure, carefully, so as not to step in the mud that had sunken Crowley up to the chest.

Crowley began to realize the mistake he had made in asking for any help from them as soon as Hastur took hold of the rock and started to push, putting only more pressure on Crowley's wing. He gritted his teeth.

"Hey! He—agh!" Crowley cried out as Hastur and Ligur shifted the rock, only to put it more firmly on top of Crowley's injured wing. Fresh, sharp pain shot down the feathered appendage right into his back and Crowley gasped out a breath.

"There, we moved it a little," Ligur snickered and Hastur wheezed a horrible laugh.

Hastur kicked Crowley in the shoulder and he and Ligur started off on their way again.

"You're just gonna leave me here?" Crowley cried.

Hastur glanced over his shoulder and snorted. "I'm sure you'll figure something out, Crawly. You're the snake who knows all the tricks after all, aren't you?"

Crowley hissed at them angrily, and slumped back, cringing from the pain still radiating from his wing. Honestly, he wasn't surprised at their reaction. He should have known better than to ask them for help.

He twisted as far as he could, and tried to reach the rock that was trapping his wing, but it was no good. He was too stuck in the mud and there was no other way to reach it and hope to have the strength to push it away. He was in quite the tight spot and, for once, couldn't see how he was going to get out of it.

Crowley rested his chin against his arm and slumped. It looked like he might be stuck here until he discorporated after all.

* * *

_Aziraphale helped a shepherd_ recover a lost sheep that had run away in the storm, and then began to make his way back to his little tent where he had taken up residence. The rain had thankfully lessened to a drizzle but that didn't help the mud, which was still doing its best to spatter Aziraphale's pristine robes. He sighed.

As he was passing the rocky outcropping, he glanced over to see the flash of black and dark red, somewhat surprised to see the demon still there. He stopped, unsure of what to do. The demon had his head down, looking exhausted and truly in need of help.

Aziraphale wrung his hands slightly, then sighed and hurried over.

"Excuse me," he said.

The demon jerked his head up, face lined with anger, desperation, and pain. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel pity for the creature, after all that was in his nature.

"Oh, you again," the demon muttered and stuck his head down sullenly.

"Yes, me again," Aziraphale replied and crouched next to the demon, ignoring for the moment that his robes were dragging in the mud. "Um…it looks like you still need some assistance."

The demon simply rolled his golden eyes. "You're a bright one, aren't you."

Aziraphale pressed his lips together. "I just want to help."

"Why?" the demon finally asked, snarling a little. "Why would an angel want to help someone like me?"

Aziraphale straightened, not having expected that question. "Why, because that's why I'm here. To help."

"Not demons. I know. You're here to slay demons. This mud's probably doing you a favor right now."

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. "Well, to be completely honest, that was part of my job description, but frankly you don't seem very impressive or evil at the moment. I think I could manage to simply get you out of there and leave any smiting for another time."

The demon narrowed his eyes, seeming to think about it, before he slumped, seeming to be too exhausted to care anymore. "I guess I won't stop you."

Aziraphale straightened up and instantly stepped over to the rock that was pinning the demon's wing.

"By the way, I'm Aziraphale. I don't think we were ever properly introduced."

"Oh," the demon said, eyes following him, then murmured a bit sheepishly. "I'm Crawly…but, er, I'm thinking of changing it to Crowley."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well then…_Crowley?_ I would be happy to get you out of here." He lifted the rock, puffing a bit at the size, and carefully set it down away from Crowley's wing.

The demon gave a gasp of relief, but his wing still flapped awkwardly and Aziraphale could see that it was injured, possibly even broken. It was so covered in mud though it was hard to tell.

"Oh my, this looks rather bad."

"I'll manage," Crowley growled and tried to pull himself up, but was still stuck fast in the mud.

Aziraphale hurried back around to face him and reached out, grabbing Crowley's arms before the demon could protest, and heaved. "Breathe out when I pull."

Crowley grunted, but did as Aziraphale asked and with a hearty tug, Aziraphale managed to pull the demon from the mud.

Crowley collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily, his injured wing twitching with pained spasms.

Aziraphale could leave now, he probably _should_, actually, but for some reason, he just couldn't bear the thought of leaving the demon here covered in mud and looking rather more like a drowned rat than a Fiend of Hell.

"Here," he said, reaching down a hand. "Why don't you come to my place? It's not far from here. I…I can help you clean your wing, and see if I can do anything for it."

Crowley whipped around and glowered at him. "You think you can trap me that easily, angel?" he snarled.

Aziraphale put on an indignant look. "Trap you? I'm just offering my help! Look, I know things are a little different now, but I didn't bother going after you in the Garden and I won't now! If I had wanted to hand you over to Heaven, why would I have pulled you from the mud in the first place?"

Crowley seemed to consider that for a moment. "Yeah, okay. I guess as long as it's somewhere dry…"

Aziraphale smiled slightly. "I promise it is out of the rain and mud."

Crowley tried to stand, but with his wings so sodden with mud, it was difficult. Aziraphale had to help him to his feet and then keep a slow pace, wincing in sympathy as Crowley's wings dragged behind him, the pain obvious on his face.

Aziraphale bit his lip, really hoping he wasn't doing the wrong thing by helping a demon. And yet…well, he _was_ helping _someone_ and that could never truly be a bad thing, could it?

Who knows? After all, perhaps he could turn the demon to his side eventually because of his small act of kindness.

* * *

_Crowley trailed after the angel_, glancing around for any sign of either demons or other angels. He wasn't sure he really trusted this Aziraphale. No, the angel hadn't reported him that day in the Garden and they'd had a rather nice chat all things considered, but things had changed since then and it _had_ been a little while. Crowley had new orders, and Aziraphale probably did too.

And yet he was very tired, and filthy, and his wing really hurt. If the angel had a fire, he would be at least a little grateful.

And Aziraphale had come back and pulled him out of the mud. Crowley had to admit he was a little grateful for that as well.

"Here we are," Aziraphale said with a small smile.

Crowley glanced at the small tent with some trepidation, but Aziraphale hurried forward and opened the flap, showing it was empty inside.

"Come in! I'll start a fire and warm some water to wash your wings."

"More water," Crowley grumbled, but did as he was told, moving into the tent and sitting on a mat.

The angel gathered wood, which he miracled dry and started a fire. Then he got a metal bowl out and hung it above the fire with water in it, before handing Crowley a cloth to begin drying himself off with.

They sat in awkward silence as Crowley tried to get as much water as possible out of his hair, but as soon as the water was warm, Aziraphale took it off the fire and dipped a rag into it, reaching for the uninjured wing.

Crowley yanked it away. "I can do it," he said weakly.

Aziraphale gave him a look. "Come now, you won't be able to reach all the spots on your wings. You may as well let me. I'll be quicker about it."

Crowley huffed, but didn't really have much choice in the matter. He was exhausted. He pulled his legs up until his knees were pressing against his chest and allowed the angel to get behind him and start cleaning his wings off, though he kept him in his eyeline.

"You really did get into quite a mess," Aziraphale chided gently. "What happened?"

"Fell down," Crowley muttered, then arched his back with a soft cry of pain he bit off almost instantly.

"Oh dear, I am sorry," Aziraphale apologized quickly. He'd moved on to the injured wing now and was washing it of mud as gently as possible. "This is quite nasty, I think one of the bones is broken."

Crowley swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull the wing away from the angel's light grip because that would only make it hurt worse. "Not surprised with that rock on it." Though he suspected Hastur and Ligur had made it worse with their cruelty.

"I don't think it's too bad though. I'm sure you'll be healed up within a couple of days, as long as you don't do anything to injure it further," Aziraphale said, trying to sound optimistic.

Crowley grunted. In the meantime, he would be grounded and unable to shift fully into his snake form until his wing healed. He would be a sitting duck.

Aziraphale finished cleaning it and set the now dirty cloth aside. "I'll see if I have anything to splint it with."

"I'm sure it's fine," Crowley squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable with the fact that an angel was the one caring for his wounds. "In fact, I should be going…"

Aziraphale rested a hand on his shoulder and Crowley suddenly froze, instincts kicking in. He was sure this was the end of the angel's ruse and he was going to keep Crowley from leaving by force, but as if sensing his discomfort, Aziraphale took his hand away after a small pat.

"Please, Crowley. I promise you're in no danger here. There are no other angels around, I'm actually quite alone." He chuckled quietly but Crowley caught a little regret in it. "Believe me, I have no wish to harm a demon unless I must."

Crowley didn't really relax, but he didn't bolt from the tent either. Really, he probably wouldn't get too far anyway in his current condition.

"Fine," he muttered. "Still don't know why you're helping me."

Aziraphale glanced at him with a small smile. "I just don't see much point in doing anything else. After all, you hardly seem a threat."

Crowley hissed, but it was half-hearted and Aziraphale pursed his lips in disappointment. The demon slumped despite himself.

Aziraphale cast around for something he could use as a splint and came up with some sticks and ripped up a cloth to hold them in place.

"Now, this part probably won't be pleasant," he warned.

Crowley only had a second to brace himself before Aziraphale took his wing in gentle but firm hands and swiftly pulled to straighten the bone.

Crowley let out a sharp howl despite his best efforts, bowing forward so that his forehead almost touched the ground.

Aziraphale had one hand steadying his wing and the other was patting his back. "There, there, worst part's over now. Just a moment."

Crowley blessed through his teeth as Aziraphale fixed the splint in place and then bent his wing into a resting position, binding it like that. Crowley sat up straighter, actually amazed that the pain had lessened significantly. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the splint and the neat bandaging.

"Is that better?" Aziraphale asked, seeming anxious.

Crowley shifted his joint. "Yes…actually."

The angel gave a small smile. "Good. Now, why don't you rest here for a little while? I have a few things to see to nearby and won't need the tent for a couple of days. You could stay here and heal."

"Oh, I couldn't…" Crowley protested, but the angel held up a hand.

"I insist. Please, you'd be doing me a favor anyway. No one would take it if you were here."

Crowley raised his eyebrow. "A favor?"

The angel stopped, cheeks flushing as if he realized what he had said. "Oh, er, well, you know. So to speak."

Crowley narrowed his eyes, making the angel even more uncomfortable before he nodded. "Alright. I suppose I could manage that. After you saved me and all."

Aziraphale relaxed and stood up. "Oh, well, you know. All in a day's work."

"Right," Crowley muttered.

"Anyway, make yourself comfortable," Aziraphale said and pulled back the flap on the tent.

"Angel," Crowley called him back before he could fully exit the tent.

Aziraphale turned around expectantly.

Crowley bit his lip, trying to form the words. "Er…egh…thanks."

Aziraphale's face lit up and he nodded in return before he slipped out of the tent.

Crowley sat there for a long moment, wondering at the strangeness of this entire situation and what it could possibly mean for his future.

But he decided that he would think more on it later. Right now, he found himself to be incredibly weary. His hair and feathers had mostly dried, and the tent was warm and comfortable, and most of all not full of mud and rain.

He crawled over to the pallet and stretched out on it, wings folded across his back, head pillowed on his arms, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep, feeling safe for the first time in so long he couldn't remember.

* * *

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